


longing for home

by nezstorm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lonely Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:17:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: Stiles can't say he’s alone, yet he’s lonely all the same, half of the country away from Beacon Hills as he is.





	longing for home

**Author's Note:**

> a random thing i wrote while watching the world cup.

It’s not that he doesn't have anyone at all. There's at least half a dozen of fellow students that he could call friends, that he hangs out with every now and again. And that's not counting his study group. 

 

The barista at his favorite coffee shop remembers his order and chats with him when they have a chance. The couple at the bookstore took a liking to him, delighted by his love of knowledge, going as far as to order more obscure mythology and folklore books with him in mind. 

 

So Stiles can't say he’s alone, yet he’s lonely all the same, half of the country away from Beacon Hills as he is.

 

He needed the distance, yes, needed a place where he’d be able to breathe again. But that doesn't make it easier to go back to his apartment and see it so bereft, with only his own clutter filling it.

 

It's a particularly hard day, today, heavy with the workload and not enough time and energy to do it all. The fact that Stiles hasn't as much as Skyped with anyone in over a week, exchanging only a few absent minded texts with his friends, that he hardly left his apartment for anything else than classes and a store run - it makes his skin feel tight, his eyes stinging as he plays with his phone and hopes a notification will pop up.

 

He could call his dad or Scott for a chat, but they’re both probably asleep at this time. Kira,who is closest to him, is also out of range most of the time while she's juggling school and learning her powers. And Lydia is all the way in England, studying at Cambridge, and not at all giving Jackson a chance to approach her.

 

All the important people in his life are busy with their own lives and shouldn't have to deal with Stiles’ breakdowns. They’ve done enough.

 

The rest of the pack Stiles isn't as close as with and he’s scared of being ignored or shot down because of it.

 

Then there's Peter. Not exactly pack, neither quite Stiles’ friend. They're… something. Something that makes butterflies swarm up in Stiles’ stomach just as often as his gut clench with nerves. 

 

They're drawn to each other, there's no denying it, but with their pasts and demons combined, Stiles isn't sure they’d be anything good if they tried.

 

They could end up explosive, lethal to the world.

 

It doesn't stop Stiles from texting Peter now and then, from grinning down at his phone when Peter complains about the lack of intelligent company at pack meetings. Doesn't stop warmth from spreading, cheeks picking, when Peter calls him  _ sweetheart _ and  _ darling _ and  _ my sweet boy _ .

 

It doesn't stop his breath from stuttering when his phone vibrates in his hands, Peter's picture popping up on the screen - an incoming call. 

 

He ignores how his fingers shake when he swipes right to accept the call.

 

“Peter?”

 

“You’ve been quiet lately, dear boy,” Peter says, in lieu of a hello. 

 

Stiles can't tell from his tone if he’s worried or upset by the lack of random texts Stiles would normally send him at least every other day. But he's been tired and lonely and stuck in his head.

 

“Sorry,” Stiles says, for lack of a better answer, “Been a busy week.”

 

“Well, I hope it’s not so busy that you’ll deny me the pleasure of your company today.”

 

_ What? _

 

There’s a knock on his door before Stiles gets a chance to ask what Peter means.

 

“Are you really here?” Stiles asks, voice wavering.

 

Peter chuckles, “Open the door and see.”

 

Stiles does, closing the distance between himself and the door in a small jog, throwing the door open before he talks himself out of it.

 

Somehow, even faced with those bright blue eyes and devious, maddening smirk, with the thick neck and sinfully deep and soft-looking v-neck, with all of it mere inches away from him, Stiles still doesn't believe what he sees.

 

He clutches his phone to his chest and watches Peter look at him, take the state he’s in, and then visibly  _ soften _ .

 

“Hello, darling,” Peter says sounding genuinely pleased to see Stiles, “I missed you.”

  
  



End file.
